Darcy was surprised at how much he was enjoying himself. Large gatherings were usually tedious affairs, and he purposely avoided them. He could only put his euphoric state down to the presence of Elizabeth. He had taken a turn about the room with Elizabeth on his arm, introducing her to all he thought worthy. Not usually a vain man in any sense of the word, he found he relished the praise and congratulation they were receiving. His chest was puffed up with love and pride in equal measures. He could not remember a time he had felt happier.
Surprisingly, Elizabeth was also enjoying herself. Darcy was attentive and considerate, a side of him that was new to her. He had introduced her to several titled people who she knew by reputation but had never imagined she would meet. And for the first time, Elizabeth realised how high Darcy’s standing was in the community. He may not have a title, but his patronage was decidedly sought after and his friendship, highly regarded. Which again, made her wonder why he had chosen her as his future companion? Indeed, as she gazed around the room, many young women were standing with their Mamma’s, some far prettier than her.
As the musicians struck up the chords for “The Shrewsbury Lasses,” Darcy held out his hand, inviting her to join him on the dance floor.
“I remembered hearing you say this is your favourite dance,” he said with a broad smile.
Elizabeth felt the strange flutter in her chest again and returned his smile.
“It is,” she replied. “Did you ask them to play this for me?”
He smiled and nodded.
Again, she was struck by his thoughtfulness. That he had taken note of, and then remembered this was her favourite dance, astonished her. Every day she was surprised by something he said or some action he took, just to please her.
As the dance dictated, they came together, and he took her hand and gave her a slight bow, which he executed it beautifully. As they straightened, Darcy took the opportunity to catch Elizabeth’s eyes and grinned sheepishly at her, then he honoured the lady in green next to him with the same salute, but now his expression was one of complete decorum.
Elizabeth felt her heart lurch when their eyes met again as Darcy swept the lady in green down the line of dancers. For the first time, ever, her corsets seemed to be tied too tight for her to breathe. This combination was not an unpleasant feeling, quite the contrary, it was exceedingly nice. Could my closeness to Darcy be the cause of this agreeable sensation? Elizabeth craned her neck as she tried to follow his progress, and when she found him, she almost missed her step. With an apology to her partner, she decided to concentrate more on her own dancing. But, as Darcy reached the end of the line, Elizabeth couldn’t help but seek him out again. She watched as he made a turn, and then began to make his way back along the row of dancers. When her partner spun her around and bowed, Elizabeth only managed to bob a quick curtsy as she waited expectantly for Darcy to reclaim her hand. Reunited, Elizabeth bowed and skipped towards him and then back again, smiling broadly as he mirrored her steps.
Darcy’s dark eyes never stray far from Elizabeth. He wanted to memorise every second of their time together. Every step, every smile, every glance. Darcy knew that moments such as these were memories of the future, and he wanted to relish every one of them.
Sensing the intensity of Darcy’s gaze, Elizabeth began to feel a little light-headed, coupled with the strange sensation in her stomach, she wondered if it could be the glass of punch she had drunk. As she tried to rationalise the experience, Elizabeth knew one glass of punch could not affect her so much. She could only conclude; the effect was most certainly caused by her closeness to Mr Darcy. She had declared her dislike of him for months, so could her feelings have changed so materially in just a few days?
Finally, the dance concluded, and Darcy bestowed Elizabeth with another radiant smile.
“I don’t usually enjoy dancing, but that was more than pleasant. Perhaps I have been dancing with the wrong partners.”
Elizabeth smiled at his compliments and took his arm.
“Come, there is one more person I must introduce you to,” Darcy said.
They made their way to a group of men standing by the refreshment table. Darcy tapped the shoulder of the one in the scarlet uniform.
The soldier turned, and when he saw it was Darcy, he greeted him with enthusiasm.
“Darcy! It’s good to see you. How fair you? What are you doing here? You hate mother’s balls?”
Richard asked as he pumped Darcy’s hand in a vigorous handshake.
“I am well cousin, and you exaggerate my dislike for balls,” Darcy said with mock severity. “It’s usually only the people I dislike.” They both laughed heartily.
Then, turning to Elizabeth, Darcy made the formal introductions.
“Elizabeth, may I introduce my cousin, Colonel Richard Fitzwilliam. He is the younger son of our esteemed hostess. Richard, this is Miss Elizabeth Bennet, my fiancée.”
In the second’s it took Elizabeth to lower her eyes and curtsy, Richards shot Darcy a look of disbelief.
Darcy nodded his confirmation.
“My pleasure, ma’am,” Richard said with all sincerity.
He raised her hand to his lips, bowed low, and then placed a brief kiss on her gloved fingers.
“If you are not engaged in the next set Miss Bennet, would you do me the honour?” he asked, eager to find out more about the woman who had captured Darcy’s, heart.
Elizabeth gracefully accepted, and they moved onto the dance floor, leaving Darcy standing alone on the perimeter.
Richard attempted to fill the silence as they waited for the music to begin.
“Do you live in town, Miss Bennet, or are you here at Darcy’s request?”
“Mr Darcy thought it pertinent that I meet his sister before we marry,” Elizabeth replied.
“And your family, where are they?”
“My parents and sisters remain in the country.”
“Is it far? Do you to visit town often?”
“Hertfordshire, sir, and no, I have only one relation who lives in town, so I visit rarely.”
“Hertfordshire is an easy distance, is it not? When do you return?” he persisted.
“I go home in a sennight, Colonel.”
The music started, and the rigours of the dance meant there was little chance for more conversation, much to Elizabeth’s relief. Although she enjoyed some talking during a dance, the colonel's relentless questioning was exhausting.
Richard, on the other hand, was intrigued by his partner and had much more he wanted to ask. Darcy had never mentioned meeting a woman, let alone one he was thinking of marrying.
The dance was quite strenuous, and when it ended, the colonel courteously offered to bring Elizabeth some refreshment, which she gratefully accepted.
As Elizabeth enjoyed a few gentle sips, Colonel Fitzwilliam took the opportunity to study her closely. She was pretty in an unconventional way, with her dark hair set to ringlets and her long eyelashes that gently rested on her cheeks when her gaze was downcast. Her skin bore a faint hint of the sun but appeared blemish free, and her simple, yet elegant gown was well suited to her stature and colouring. Richard was impressed with his cousin’s choice, and thought, if she was as smart and witty on the inside, as she was pleasing to look at on the outside, she might be a worthy match for the master of Pemberley.
“Colonel,” Elizabeth repeated.
“I’m so sorry, Miss Bennet, you were saying?” he answered, embarrassed at being caught wool-gathering.
“I think I must return to Mr Darcy now,” she repeated quietly and offered him her empty glass.
Relieving her of her burden he said,
“Of course, Miss Bennet, but perhaps you will allow me to claim your hand for a second dance later?”
“You may, Colonel Fitzwilliam, thank you.”
Richard bowed and returned her to Darcy’s side, purposely ignoring the glare his cousin bestowed on him.
For the remainder of the evening, Darcy stayed close
to Elizabeth’s side. As he had feared, Elizabeth was inundated with offers for every dance. Many of the gentlemen she took to the floor with, complimented her on her looks, her gown and her manners, but Darcy knew she would not be swayed by such insincere flattery. Instead, Elizabeth merely smiled politely and accepted their compliments with grace.
Darcy, on the other hand, danced with only Elizabeth and his sister. When not thus engaged, he prowled around the periphery of the dance floor, ensuring no liberties were taken with either of ‘his’ women. He had anticipated a certain degree of interest in his intended, after all, most of society was curious about the woman who had finally snared The Master of Pemberley, but it seemed both genders were focused solely on Elizabeth.
Therefore, when it was time to say goodnight, only Darcy was cheerful about leaving.
That night, as Elizabeth laid in bed, she tried to remember what had set her so against Mr Darcy in the first place. Tonight, he had been both attentive and charming, dancing four complete sets with her. They had conversed often and happily over the course of the evening. And at supper time, he had been devoted to her and affable with the other dinners. This Darcy was charismatic and personable, nothing like the man she had first met in Hertfordshire.
Her initial dislike of him had started when she overheard his cutting comment about her looks that first night at the Meryton assembly. Though, as far as she knew, Darcy was unaware that she had overheard his utterance. Besides, that was too trivial to hold against him now. Clearly, he had not meant it. Then there was George Wickham. Darcy and Mr Wickham undoubtedly had a history between them, and that it was acrimonious was clear. However, she had only heard Wickham’s version of events, and the more she got to know Darcy, the more she doubted Wickham. Had Wickham overheard her frown on Darcy and then used his story to fuel her dislike? Honestly, she did not know. But how could she rationalise Mr Darcy’s assault on Wickham when he had offered her no explanation for his actions? Elizabeth decided, if she was to learn the truth, she must ask someone other than Darcy. Georgiana seemed the best candidate, and Elizabeth resolved to do just that.
Chapter Thirteen
The day after the Matlock ball, only two of the residents at Airwhile House rose to partake in breakfast. Georgiana slept in, as was the custom in the city, but neither Darcy nor Elizabeth adopted this practice.
With only a few hours’ sleep, Elizabeth could be forgiven for not looking her best, but as Darcy peered at her over the top of his coffee cup, he thought she had never looked lovelier. A few wisps of her dark locks determined not to be restrained hung defiantly at the side of her temples. Her cheeks still held a little of the rosy hue they had acquired from dancing most of the night, and her mouth was in possession of a slight smile. Yes, she had a glow about her that seemed to permeate the very air around her. If they had already stood before the preacher, he would not be wasting time daydreaming about how he longed to possess those soft, full lips of hers… But as it was, they had not. Although not satisfying in the least, daydreaming would have to do for now.
Elizabeth was very happy this morning. After much deliberation last night, she had concluded that Mr Darcy was worthy of further investigation. He appeared to be a man of many layers, complex in some respects and simple in others. Until now, Elizabeth had only met with gentlemen who were eager to impress or entertain. She had rarely been exposed to arguments, even between her parent, and all her other male relations and acquaintances were affable. Mr Darcy was the first man to show a less than perfect façade. From the very first day of their acquaintance, she had witnessed an array of emotions from him. Which she found to be both refreshing, exasperating and a little bit exciting. As Darcy revealed more of his character to her, the less, she believed Wickham’s allegations. Today, she had decided, would be the beginning of a new chapter in her life. Now she was to become the mistress of Pemberley, she must get to know its master better.
“Are the eggs not to your liking, Elizabeth? I can have some fresh brought up if you prefer?” Darcy asked as he watched her push the offending item around her plate.
“Oh, no, thank you. I was reminiscing about last night. I have never been to such an event. It was very grand,” Elizabeth replied happily.
“The Prince Regent would call that a country affair.” Darcy chuckled. “The events at Clarence House are what you would describe as truly opulent.”
Elizabeth smiled, then said,
“I liked your cousin, Colonel Fitzwilliam.”
“Yes, he enthused your virtues to me throughout the evening. When he threw the question “are there any more like Miss Bennet in Hertfordshire,” at me, I did not dare tell him about your sisters.”
Elizabeth understood his meaning and smiled again, only to see a wry grin in return.
“Why the face?” she asked, “My impression was that you and your cousin were close.”
“Oh, we are. As children, we often shared many things, but as a grown man, there are certain things I am no longer willing to share with my cousin,” Darcy said, and this time, he added a genuine smile.
The temptation to tease was too strong for Elizabeth to deny, and she asked,
“Such as?”
Darcy knew he was being baited, and strangely enough, he didn’t mind. Nevertheless, it was an opportunity to inform Elizabeth that some things were his and his alone.
“I know society considers it fashionable, at present, to engage in mild flirtation with men other than your husband. However, as my wife, I expect you to abstain from this unseemly practice. Likewise, I will offer you the same courtesy.”
Elizabeth knew that the fashion for indulging in extra-marital affairs, such as the Prince Regent did, was something that the upper echelons of society had adopted. The Prince’s affairs were widely reported in the papers, each noting which Lady was in favour with him, and which was not.
Elizabeth tailored her reply to reflect her own feelings on the matter of fidelity.
“It is my opinion that when you say your marriage vows, you are pledging your fidelity before not only your family and friends, but also before God. Such a vow should not be undertaken if there is no intention of keeping it.”
Darcy’s chest puffed up as his heart swelled with a renewed admiration for his beloved. Elizabeth was definitely a very, unique, woman.
With breakfast finished, Darcy left to attend a meeting with his lawyer, leaving Georgiana and Elizabeth alone until dinner time. Georgiana suggested they make the most of a mild day and take a carriage ride in the park.
Elizabeth eagerly agreed, hoping to broach the subject of George Wickham with her.
The snow had either melted or turned to slush overnight, leaving the roads clear and usable, but they still wrapped up warm and covered their legs with furs against the chill in the air.
For the first time in days, the streets were filled with performers and lay preachers, entertaining the crowds or trying to save their souls.
Georgiana commented that the park was uncommonly busy today, but Elizabeth was distracted by a man juggling with knives. Accustomed to seeing such things, Georgiana instead scanned the crowds for any familiar faces. She noticed a few acquaintances, and she nodded in acknowledgement as the men raised their hats and the women inclined their heads.
Engrossed in accepting the salutations of a well-known poet, Georgiana was startled to hear her name called out aloud. She touched Elizabeth’s arm, who turned to her with a broad grin. Elizabeth followed the girl’s gaze and instantly lost her smile.
“Miss Darcy, Georgiana, how refreshing it is to finally get outside after all that horrid snow. Is Mr Darcy not accompanying you today?” came the insincere drawl of Caroline Bingley. The Bingley carriage drew up alongside the Darcy equipage, and Caroline acknowledged Elizabeth with unmasked reluctance,
“Miss Eliza.”
They inclined their heads in acknowledgement of Caroline’s greeting, but her hostility towards Elizabeth had not gone unnoticed by the younger woman.
&n
bsp; As Georgiana struggled to reply to Miss Bingley’s question, Elizabeth said,
“Good day Miss Bingley. It is indeed pleasant to be outside once again. Unfortunately, Mr Darcy had a prior engagement.” She said civilly, “And Mr Bingley, is he also in town?”
Caroline leant closer to the Darcy carriage and hissed her reply.
“No, for reasons only he understands, he remains in the country.”
Again, directing her words solely to Georgiana, Caroline continued,
“I recently bumped into a close acquaintance of yours, Miss Darcy. They charged me to pass a message on to you when we next met.”
“A message, for me?” Georgiana asked with surprise.
Caroline lowered her voice and said in a conspiratorial tone,
“I believe the person, who shall remain nameless, wishes to return some correspondence to you.”
Georgiana’s mind was a blank. She could not fathom who Miss Bingley was referring to.
“Mr Wickham, of course, George Wickham,” Caroline revealed, her voice filled with exasperation.
Elizabeth, thinking that Caroline was doing her cloak and dagger performance for her sake, realised that it was more serious when she saw Georgiana’s face blanch. How strange that the mention of George Wickham’s name should affect both Darcy and his sister in such an adverse way. Wishing to protect her future sister, Elizabeth tried to end the conversation, but Caroline would not be silenced.
“My conversation with Miss Darcy is private,” Caroline retorted before turning back to Georgiana.
“I want nothing to do with, George Wickham,” Georgiana mumbled. “Fitzwilliam alone deals with Mr Wickham.”
To Love Mr Darcy Page 9
